


Moriarty

by bbkris10



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Heroin Usage, Kidnapping, Overdose, just your typical moriarty/reader fic, ok this one actually needs a few more tags, or is it?????, ur gonna wanna read this one all the way through ;), yeah lol read it though its better than it sounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 23:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbkris10/pseuds/bbkris10
Summary: SIKE





	Moriarty

_You didn't choose this life. You have no control. There's nothing you can do now._

The thoughts echo through your mind as you push the last of the liquid out of the syringe, instantly feeling the fire in your veins. How you love this fire. Your eyes flutter shut and and you exhale slowly, heavily. You lean your head back against the dirty concrete wall. How you hate this fire.

The thought goes as quickly as it comes, pushed away by the pleasure of the drug, clearing your troubled mind. There. There it is. That sickeningly lovely lure of nothingness. You laugh, giddy as you are filled, or rather emptied, with absolutely nothing. Your head lolls to the side as you let go of all control, and let it take over, wash you clean of everything; the good, the bad, the anything. A smile twitches to and from your dry, cracked lips.

You hear a scrape as a person slides down the dirty wall to settle next at you. You can hardly be bothered at this point, but your brow does manage to furrow at the distraction.

"Mmmm." comes the mocking hum beside you, followed by three distasteful clicks of the tongue. "Not. Good." A man's funny voice slides into your head, blurring with the swirling pleasantness of the high. You barely notice when a hand picks up yours and turns it over to expose your wrist. You groan and pull away slightly, wanting quiet, quiet, quiet and nothing. He chuckles and lets your limp wrist slip away, having gotten what he wanted.

"I don't think that much is entirely safe, hmm? No." Fingers grasp your chin and shake your head no.

You moan and push your eyes open through the haze. A face comes into your vision, but all you can manage to focus on are the eyes. You can sense their strangeness even with this substance clouding your senses. You close them, not able to resist any longer. He chuckles, more alarming than comforting, and leans back against the wall next to you.

"The last person I knew with a pulse that slow...died." He said, in that curious high tone that bit through your calm. Your eyes flutter open again as you are suddenly yanked to your feet and forced into awareness.

"Now Sebby, I do believe we discussed how to be gentle." He said, raising his voice threateningly on the last word. You manage to turn your head forward and are met with the sight of a very gruff man's face right in front of yours. You let your heavy head fall back to the side and notice the fist gripping your forearm for the first time. You smile. He was the one who picked you up. How very.....your eyes drift shut again.

"Sorry sir. She's no good to us like this sir. Should we leave her?" A footstep echoes on the damp floor as the other man takes a step forward.

"Would you, for once, just shut up and LISTEN." You wince against the sudden shout, but don't have the will to move anymore. Silence. Finally.

"Put her in the car. Make sure she's buckled in. We don't want her to die tooo." He says in a voice that manages to come across as sing-song and authoritative simultaneously.

The command is answered when you are tossed over your captor's shoulder. Your head bangs against his sturdy back, and you grunt, displeased at the opposing sensations in your conscious.

"Yes sir." comes the muttered response. You find yourself adjusting to the rhythm of his walk as he heads for the car, and you are powerless against the call of sleep.

"Wakey wakey." A familiar voice prods at your drowsy mind, summoning you to consciousness. You blink your heavy eyelids open and the first thing you notice is how clearly your sight registers. You begin glancing around the room. White walls surround you lined in ornate, sophisticated red baseboards. The floor seems to be made of some king of gleaming speckled gray marble. You tilt your head back and gasp at the dazzling sight of an elaborate crystal chandelier, lit with old fashioned candles.

"I know." the prideful voice mewls behind you, and you quickly push yourself up off the hard floor.

"Not so quick." he warns playfully, but too late. You grunt as your legs give out beneath you and you crash back down onto the floor.

"I wouldn't try to get up so quickly after a week of operations. You're body isn't quite ready to support itself without...your usual assistance. Heroin is a naughty thing."

Heroin. The word tugs at your senses, muddling your mind with feelings of both longing and dread. That's why there isn't even a hint of blur in your vision. He's put you through some kind of detox. Your hands fly to your waist habitually attempting to push into your ratty jean pockets for the familiar syringe, but you come in contact with cotton instead. Your eyes widen as you look down to find yourself in a light hospital dress.

"Where's my stuff?" you yell, panicked. You manage to turn around while sitting, even though it makes your head pound. "You c-can't take my stuff!" You look up and finally really see your captor for the first time. He is dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, that you couldn't dream of ever having the money to buy. It complements his nonchalant posture. Although he is not overly tall, there is something about the careless set of his shoulders that makes you shrink back. Your eyes travel up from his gleaming black shoes to his face. He is looking at you with a blank expression in his deep, almost inky brown eyes. He somehow manages to maintain that empty look while his lips curl up into an unfeeling smirk.

He ducks his head and takes one hand out of his pocket to scratch behind his ear. "I can. Actually." he says with an exaggerated sorry-not-sorry wince.

"No, you don't understand, I need it. Please...please, just a little." You plead feeling your heart rate pick up as your body registers the absence of the drug.

"Hmm." he muses, cocking his head to the side and tapping his chin theatrically. He suddenly points a finger in the air and widens his eyes. "No." he answers, and laughs as if that were very brilliant. "Now I'm going to ask you to do something...please." he says, switching gears instantly and mocking your plea. "Tell me the last time you saw Sherlock Holmes." He pauses for you to answer. You raise your eyebrows in confusion.

"No? Oh, ok I'll tell you. Last week, on Friday, at the Den, hm? Ringing any bells? Helloooo." he drawls, pacing in front of you slowly.

"Sh-Sherlock." you mutter, testing the name on your tongue. You remember the Den well, but hazily.

"Yes. Sherlock. Good girl." he says, "Your dealer."

"Oh," you laugh as the image of the pale, unkempt man fills your head. "You mean Shezza. Yes, I buy from him." speaking of him brings the drugs back to the forefront of your thoughts. "My money, my drugs, give them back!" You scream, even as tears begin to fall from your eyes. You bunch the material of the dress in your fists as you bawl. You _need_ it. You feel sweat beading on your brow and the room becomes too hot. You need it _now_.

"Oh dear, this is very interesting." You ignore him as your chest heaves. You've never experienced withdrawals before. A whole week without shooting up? Impossible.

"I don't suppose it would interest you to know that...Shezza...was putting a little something else in your needle. You're an experiment, y/n. He was testing the dependency of the human body when injected with heroin and surplus blood simultaneously. It turns out to be very dangerous. That last dose was meant to kill you. He was finished with his little test, and couldn't have you figuring anything out." He stepped toward you and crouched down so that his head was next to yours, facing the opposite way.

"If it wasn't for me you'd be dead." He whispered so quietly that you could barely hear him over your uncontrollable sobs. He was back up just as quick and stood over you staring down. You looked up at him and he smirked again and swiveled around on his heel, walking towards the only door in the room. He flipped up a small case on the wall that you hadn't noticed before and whistled while he tapped in some sort of code. The door swung outward revealing a large man standing guard against the opposite wall. "I think y/n here could use some water. Would you, Sebby?" the first man said, lightly patting the guard's cheek. He didn't flinch, and gave a curt nod. The man chuckled as the door to your room automatically swung shut behind him. You cried and cried until you couldn't anymore. And when you were done you were mad. More angry than you can ever remember being because your senses hadn't been this intact for a long time. You were torn between murdering your captor for taking your drugs and Shezza for lacing them. An experiment? He was so disheveled and gawky, he couldn't be that smart. And who was this man? He was obviously rich and had authority. You didn't want to believe him, but now that your mind was clear enough to think about it, those last few highs hadn't felt quite right. You were so confused that you just wanted a smoke to calm down and slow your nerves.

The door swung open, making you jump.

The guard was back with a clear cup filled with a sparkling liquid and tinkling with ice cubes. It seemed out of place in his large, strong hand.

"Drink it." he said, setting the glass down on the floor in front of you.

"That's not water." you respond, channeling some of your anger into defiance. Who did these people think they were?

He shrugged. "Drink it or I'll break your nose." You glared up at him. Your snarl dissipated as his huge arm reared back.

"I'll drink it, I'll drink it!" you cry, throwing your hands up to stop him. His arm froze in the air as he watched you pick up the cup. You eyed him over the glass as you gulped the liquid down. When you had finished, he waited until you set the cup back down on the floor before picking it up and walking back to the door, entering the code on the wall. 

"Hey, what was that?" you call across the room as the door swings open.

"Medicine." he answers simply, stepping over the threshold and letting the door lock shut behind him. But you are already falling asleep.

 

 

The next time you awake the man is there again.

"Hello. How are you feeling?" He asks rocking on his heels with his hands held behind his back.

"Like I've been kidnapped and robbed." you answer groggily, arching your back up off the floor to pop the kinks out that come from sleeping on a cold marble floor.

He laughs, a sound you are already growing used to, and flashes his very white teeth at you in a smile. "Oh, I think it could be worse. Look, I've even brought you a present." he says and reveals a big pillow that he had hidden behind his back. He tosses it at you quickly, and your arms come up to catch it. "Ooh Good. Very good. You've regained use of your reflexes. My little potion is working fast." he says in a tone that edges on bragging.

"Yes, the 'water' was delicious." you say sarcastically. You don't want to play this clever healing game, you just want your stuff and your freedom.

"I hoped you would say that." he says, his tone immediately becoming serious as if this really meant something to him. "I just want you to get better, y/n."

You flinch at the use of your name, and realize that he's used it before, yesterday.

"How do you know so much about me?" you ask.

"You were too easy. For a druggie you haven't exactly been careful." he says, his dark playfulness returning. "But here I am knowing all about you, and forgetting that you know nothing about me." He grabs your hand from where it rests on your knee, and bends down to bring it to his lips. His eyes bore into yours as he presses a kiss onto the back of your hand. "Jim Moriarty." he murmurs, breaths away from your hand and never breaking eye contact.

You are mesmerized by those deep, dark orbs for a long moment before you come to your senses and pull back, yanking your hand away. "Don't touch me." you practically spit at him.

His eyes register something like hurt for a faltering moment before his coy smile returns to his face. "Nobody appreciates a gentlemen these days." he drawls, standing up straight.

"Gentlemen don't kidnap people and lock them in rooms. Gentlemen don't take your clothes and personal belongings and threaten you."

"Really?" he asks in eerily convincing mock surprise. "And I don't suppose they invest money in a life saving operation that pumps deadly poison out of your veins and have a surveillance team constantly making sure that you're improving either? No, excuse me for bringing you back from the dead. How insensitive of me." His face turns hard as he waits for your response.

"What? You...I wasn't dead. What are you talking about?"

"Overdose. I'm sure you've heard of it."

"No-no I wouldn't... I've never..."

He raises his thin, impeccably shaped eyebrows at you. "Roll film, Seb." He suddenly demands.

A screen flicks to life on the wall displaying a picture of you being carried and rushed into a medical room swarming with doctors. You watch as they strip you of your damp, baggy grey hoodie and lay you out on a metal operating table. You gasp as you watch them hook a machine up to your chest. Were you really so high that you didn't feel anything? One doctor is hooking up a bag of fluids to your arm while another is pulling your eyelids back and flashing a light in your eyes. You watch in disbelief as your eyes roll back, completely unresponsive. A woman in scrubs goes through your pockets, pulling out your drugs, syringe, and crumpled up dollar bills. She places them onto a rolling table along with the spoon and lighter that had already been salvaged from your hoodie pockets. She is whisked out of the way and replaced with a doctor with a stethoscope, listening to your heart, and finally Jim Moriarty himself. Asking questions, you assume, although the video is muted. When everyone but the woman with the machine finishes their tasks, they clear the area, leaving only her and Jim. She nods towards you and he takes your hand. You glance away from the video and look up at him, but he is watching the screen, his jaw locked. You turn back just as the woman finishes securing the last of the monitors to your chest. She nods to Jim and he nods back. With that, she flicks the machine on. You tense up, expecting to watch your body convulse grotesquely on the table, but it doesn't. Nothing happens. You press a shaking hand to cover your mouth when the machine displays what should be your heartbeat, but it is flat-lined. In the video the nurses start to scurry back, but Jim holds out his free arm, instantly freezing them all. You can almost feel the authority in the air just watching it. He lowers his hand and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a syringe. He holds it out to the woman but she fervently shakes her head no and waves her hands out in front of her, unwilling to take it. Jim calmly turns to mouth something over you shoulder. The guard, Seb or something, comes in and takes the woman's arm, leading her out of the room. She hangs her head and doesn't bother resisting. Jim motions to another doctor who hesitates for only a moment before scurrying forward. Jim says something to him and puts the syringe in his hand. He points to you and takes a step back, still holding your hand, to allow the man space to access you. The man steps forward and brushes your hair off of you neck. He feels the skin until he finds the vein he's looking for, and he injects the syringe into your neck, slowly pushing the stopper down until all of the liquid is empty. He looks at Jim who nods, and then reaches to hit some buttons on the machine. Your eyes immediately burst open and your mouth opens to gasp in breath like you were drowning and someone pulled you out of the water. The nurse smiled as the monitor displayed fluctuating heart lines that indicated a heart beat.

You are surprised to notice that you've been holding your, breath, as if you could've died. The remaining doctors and nurses clap and cheer, coming to pat both Jim and the doctor on the back. Jim doesn't seem to notice them. You feel heat rush to your cheeks as you watch him in the video. His eyes watch you intently, but tenderly. A small motion catches your eye and you look down and watch him adjust his hand so that his fingers entwine with yours. He strokes his thumb over your hand and a relieved smile comes to his face as your breathing returns to normal.

"Um-you can stop it there. Pause, Sebastian!" he calls, sounding more flustered than you've ever heard him. The video freezes on Jim's smile and his hand running through his hair. "So," he says, clearing his throat, "Things could be ...eh, a lot worse." His eyes, usually so confident and superior, flick down to his shoes, seemingly incapable of meeting yours.

You brace your hands against the cold hard floor and push yourself up. Your head momentarily swims with dizziness, but you will it away, determined to stand. If this man could save your life, you could stand up next to him.

"I don't know who you are...." you say, balancing on your weakened legs. "And I don't know why you cared so much about saving me-"

"Care." he interrupted abruptly. "I still care. Very much. That's why I'm doing all this." he gestured his arm across the room. "It may not make any sense now, but everything you've endured here serves a larger purpose. It's all calculated perfectly and tuned to your personal needs for opportune healing." You raise an eyebrow, working up the confidence to try joking with him.

"I don't know about that. This floor hasn't been doing much for my back." You reach an arm behind you to brace against your sore spine, but Jim grabs your hand, causing you to give slight yelp.

"You really shouldn't be standing yet." he murmurs looking down at your fingers and sliding his thumb over your knuckles. You shiver at the sensation and watch the progress of his thumb, slightly edging forward to be nearer to him. "I'm not usually much of a...nice guy." he says, "But you make me...I just couldn't let you..." his thumb stills and he maneuvers his hand to fit his fingers with yours. "I want you alive. You probably don't understand the gravity of that, but it means a lot that you can...mean something to me." he gives a slight laugh and bites his lip, looking up at you almost sheepishly.

You take another step forward and he doesn't move away although you are only inches from each other. You lean into him ever so slowly, minutely tilting your face up to him.

"I've never meant anything to anyone before." you whisper, forcing yourself to stop a breath away from his alluring lips. He lifts his unoccupied hand to brush up your neck and slides it around to gently cup the back of your head.

"You do to me." he whispers back, and then his lips are on yours and your eyes are shutting without your permission.

"NOOOOO!" comes a cry from the doorway, snapping the two of you apart. "You've contaminated my experiment!"

"Shezza?" you ask, dumbfounded to find your old dealer in this room, let alone dressed in a long coat and an atrociously uncharacteristic blue scarf. Suddenly two gunshots ring out behind you and the last thing you see is Shezza's wild eyes as both you and Moriarty fall to the ground dead.

Sebastian twirled his gun around his wrist before tucking it back into it's holster. Sherlock looked at him with wide eyes, speechless. Sebastian shrugged, stepping over the crumpled bodies and sidestepping Sherlock to access the doorway. He pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and stuck it between his lips before lighting it.

"The pay here stinks." he mouthed around the smoking cylinder. He lifted two finger to his eyebrow and flicked them forward as a lazy salute before tucking the lighter into his pocket and sauntering away.

**Author's Note:**

> SIKE


End file.
